"Mostly."
She laughed.
The whiskey warmed her chest.
The oven warmed her back.
Gideon's shoulder rested against hers.
It was quiet.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
The kind of silence only two people who had survived difficult years together could share.
Martha eventually rested her head against his shoulder.
Gideon turned slightly.
"You tired?"
"A little."
"Go to bed."
"In a minute."
"You're going to fall asleep here."
"Maybe."
"I'll carry you."
She smiled.
"You always threaten that."
"I've done it before."
"Once."
"More than once."
"Twice."
"Three times."
"You're counting?"
"Of course."
She laughed.
Then her expression became thoughtful.
"Gideon?"
"Yes?"
"If we had to do it all again..."
He looked at her.
"Would you?"
"Every bit."
"Even the winter?"
"Yes."
"The drought?"
"Yes."
"The broken wagon?"
"Absolutely not."
He laughed.
Martha smiled.
"The wagon was your fault."
"It was not."
"You overloaded it."
"I was moving supplies."
"You put half a barn in it."
"That is an exaggeration."
"Half a barn."
"Maybe a quarter."
She laughed again.
Then she grew quiet.
"I'd do it again."
Gideon looked at her.
"Me too."
She turned her face toward him.
"Even the hard parts?"
"Especially the hard parts."
"Why?"
"Because they brought us here."
Martha looked at the oven.
The same oven.
The same stone.
The same fire.
But not the same people.
They had been young once.
Not truly young.
But younger.
They had been uncertain.
They had made mistakes.
They had been frightened.
They had lost people.
They had lost animals.
They had watched crops fail.
They had survived sickness.
They had repaired roofs.
They had buried friends.
They had celebrated births.
They had welcomed neighbors.
They had learned that love wasn't always a grand gesture.
Sometimes love was splitting the last piece of bread.
Sometimes it was warming a pair of gloves.
Sometimes it was waking in the night because the other person was coughing.
Sometimes it was fixing a fence without being asked.
Sometimes it was saying, "I know you're afraid."
And sometimes it was simply staying.
Martha leaned closer.
"Do you remember the first time you kissed me?"
Gideon smiled.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Outside the barn."
"Wrong."
He frowned.
"At the creek."